30 Day Challenge-Ib
by Datura Writii
Summary: A collection of chapter-a-days about something in the world of Ib (Fabricated or otherwise). Ranging from time at the Gallery, afterwards, endings, childhoods, alternate scenarios, etc. Rating may change in the future.
1. I See Fire

**Author's Notes | **Angelatheherbalist recommended a 30 day challenge of one-shots for Ib. One chapter per day, anything goes. Naturally, I thought it was a wondrous idea and here it is, one chapter per lovely June day. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: Still do not own Ib. Kouri still does.

* * *

"Ib! Please! Stop!"

Everything is red. My vision is filled with it; burgundy. The color of blood, the color of flames.

Mary's scream echos in my ears long after it has ceased, shrill and full of pain.

There's the sound of shattering glass, then crisp crunching, and the overwhelming roar of fire. I think I smell something oily burning. Bright fireworks of light flash and explode from behind my eyelids and my cheeks burn, seeming to sizzle. I cry and step back a few steps, covering my face with two, too small hands.

Finally, it's over with a clatter on the floor behind us, where the girl used to stand, ready to dig a knife into our backs.

There's only the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

"I have to say..." From the corner of my eye, I see Garry double over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily from the exertion of the run. He stops mid-sentence to pant again, and I make a small, worried prompting sound. "Girls sure can be scary." I exhale in relief, lips just barely curling upwards at his unfailing ability to lighten the mood, no matter how dark. "Well, anyway. It burned up a lot more violently than I expected."

I nod, still slightly dumbstruck from Mary's piercing caterwaul.

"Are you okay, Ib?" Garry is peering down at me, worry creasing his forehead and sparking in his eye. "The glass shattered, after all."

"Yes, I'm fine," my voice finally returns, "but your hand..."

"Hm? My hand? Oh, you're right, I cut it. I didn't even notice. It must have just happened...Well, it's just minor."

"Nonsense. Give me your hand." I don't wait for him to offer it to me; my fingers intertwine with his while the other hand reaches into the small pocket in my skirt, returning with my lace handkerchief. The little stitched "Ib" flashes among the white as a final farewell as Garry's blood tints it macabre. It finally found its use.

"Isn't this real lace? Well, I don't particularly want to tarnish this...Too late, unfortunately." Garry tugs for his hand back, but I refuse to relent. All this time he's been looking out for me. It's my turn to look out for him. Besides, the sooner I can get the icky red goo from my sight, the better.

"It's fine," I say as I tie the corners neatly together, staunching the wound from leaking too horribly. I berate myself for not checking for any remaining pieces of glass, but honestly, I don't think I could bring myself to. One time I walked in on a scary movie Mother and Father were watching and I couldn't sleep for a week. It was the cheesy intro when blood spattered the screen. From then on, I try to avoid those situations. It's better to be composed.

"Thanks, Ib," Garry speaks genuinely, beaming down upon me. His smile reminds me of the teddy bear that sits on my bed each night. With a pang, I realize I miss George. I miss home. "Well, let's get going!"

"Please."


	2. Tomorrow

**Author's Notes** | Thought I'd mix up setting and mood a bit. Because I can.

**Disclaimer**: Kouri owns this, I do not, blah de blah blah blargh.

* * *

"Hey, let's go to a rugby game tomorrow. Like old times, yeah?"

"Sorry, I've got plans," Garry said as he leaned back, taking another drag of his cigarette, then washing the rancid taste down with a sip of bitter, black coffee.

He hated coffee.

It was that or beer.

He hated smoking.

It was that or the cravings.

He could usually resist with a lemon candy, but his pockets were vacated of everything but a lighter and a despondent yellow wrapper.

"What plans? Gone to see your mum?"

"No, funeral tomorrow. You know I hate crowds."

"Where, then?"

"There's a new exhibition on Fore Street."

"Nothing like art to stave away the crowds," crowed the drunken man to Garry's right, slapping his back heartily, spilling some alcohol on the musky carpet below and the stocky table above that.

Distantly, the sound of billiards slapping each other rang through the pub.

"I think I'm heading home."

"Garry, old boy, you're no fun since we graduated. Adult life is when you really shine, you know?"

"Night, Tom."

"No good night to me?"

"Mason, I honestly thought you were passed out."

"Sounds like a good idea."

The pocket of stiff smells and stifling air and cacophonous sounds burst in the cool night breeze as Garry exited the pub onto a damp street littered with dank puddles. The moonlight was blocked with a low, dense cloud cover that seemed to hold everything in.

Garry's shoes clicked rhythmically on the street, alone in the city. It seemed no one was out and about in this hour. His eyes roved for the tall spire of the clock tower, where two vectors pointed towards heaven, the smaller a bit to the right.

Finally, the man reached his destination; a stout dwelling consisting of five flats in two floors. The lobby was quiet and empty, with a single, fluorescent light left on above. It flickered as he ascended the stairs, down the hall to the right, and arrived at his door.

Two keys hung on a metal ring jingled as the man peered into the darkness at them, discerning which was which. He jammed the lucky one into the door, turned and fell inside, shutting it quietly behind him as to not disturb his fellows in the rooms around him. The sink in the small bathroom rattled as he twisted the right handle harshly, as the pressure was needed to actually start the water, and splashed his face with the cool liquid. He rubbed a toothbrush over his teeth more from ritual than actual reason.

The old metal bed frame creaked as Garry sat upon it heavily, sitting with face in his hands for a quiet moment before shucking off a boot, its twin, and a ragged blue jacket. The worn quilt offered no warmth in the cold room as the man slid underneath it, head to the side. On his bedside table he could just barely make out the outline of a pamphlet he had picked up the day before.

"Come see the famous Guertena's works at our gallery," it had said in gray, curly lettering. The rest of the front was dominated by a large angler fish in an abyss of black and blue.

Ever since he was a child, Garry had loved looking at art. It was an escape from his dim reality.

No, he wouldn't say he was miserable.

He just wasn't happy.

Tomorrow, he would go and enjoy the wonders of the gallery.


	3. Dismal

**Disclaimer: **Kouri be owning all this chiznet, yo.

* * *

It's so quiet in the here, I think to myself, wandering down the halls of Guertena's works. There's the occasional sound of a heated chase, hurried footsteps and roaring, but usually, it's just soundless. Sometimes I think I hear haunting music, but it must be in my head. I continue down the halls, feeling the cool tile beneath.

I come to an opening in the halls, where there are rooms sprouting from the little complex. I think of them as levels, something that other people need to work at and strive for progress in. Not I. I continue, listening for any sound other than my own movement. Even that is barely there, a tiny, dull, continuous sound that isn't even loud enough to echo.

The walls are red; they match my dress and eyes. The floor, brown. My long locks blend into it, not even a shade darker. This seems like my room, but I know deep down that it is not. Nothing here is mine.

Not even my frame.

Not even my name.

Not even me.

Sometimes I forget my name. I return to my title to see the words, but they're meaningless to me. "Lady in Red". What a dismal name for a dismal creature.

I continue on, dragging myself on nails that are bleeding and painful from being scraped on the floor for so long. They're numb now. Just like the rest of me. My upper half, of course, I know is there despite the loss of feeling. I don't even think I have legs. Maybe my frame ate them long ago.

It would be lovely to walk.

I see my sisters in a blue, yellow, green blob, condensing on something. Out of not quite curiosity, but boredom, I make my way over. They instinctively sidle over to form a gap in their group, not really focusing on anything but the cerulean petals in their clawed grasps. In the middle lies a despondent blue rose. They don't talk, only growl to each other in savage conversing. I leave.

Yes, it's a lonely existence. There's no connecting with the others. They're different. Sometimes I feel like the original, the first lady, but honestly I'm probably just a mistake. A lonely, dismal mistake.

Footsteps. Heavy breathing. A scream.

Turning causes a wide-eyed girl to enter my vision, her fist grabbing a pink rose until the knuckles are snowy.

I growl and pull myself hand over hand towards her.


	4. A Hot Day

**Disclaimer**: Kouri owns all, guys! Stop asking! Just kidding. I think it's obvious these characters aren't mine.

* * *

Garry heaved out a breath, fanning himself with a nearly overdue bill and glaring in hatred to the dingy ceiling fan barely circling it's preset path. Sweat beaded on his forehead much like condensation beading on the cold glass of water on the coffee table across him. The fourth floor's apartment was sweltering with summer heat; the building's air conditioning had broken while he was away.

Away, at the Gallery.

Where everything went wrong.

The only spot of light in that darkness had been that little girl in red.

Ib.

His eyes wandered over to the stained handkerchief on his thin kitchenette counter, sitting there. He saw it every day, multiple times a day, every other second.

He would love to get the blood out.

But it was stained quite badly.

Even if Garry did manage to bleach it out, he would be forced to face another problem.

He didn't know Ib's address, or house number, or where she went. He didn't even know what city she hailed from. Or if she was out of state. Out of country? He certainly hoped not.

The little girl had spoken nothing of her outside life with him while they were entrapped within Fabricated World; nothing but notifying him of that one painting of her parents. It was all too much within the world to be chatting of anything outside it, he supposed. He exhaled another heated and stale breath before returning his gaze to the bill. It could wait.

Leaving the ragged jacket draped sadly across a lone chair in a corner and cutting through the kitchenette, Garry exited 4C and bounced down the stairs, a slight shiver rippling up his bared arms at the difference of temperature in the stairwell. It was the only cool place in the entire complex, minus perhaps the basement. Garry wrote a hasty mental note to himself to stay there one day.

"Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where the nearest dry cleaner's is?" he asked an elderly man waiting at the light to cross the bustling intersection.

"Two rights and a left," the senior said absently, and not quite helpfully.

"Thanks," Garry murmured, glancing around to get his bearings before choosing a street in which to turn right on. Soon enough he arrived at "Driest Cleaning" after a few bouts of retracing steps and appearing lost to countless pedestrians. "Thank goodness..."

The little bell hung on the door tinkled brightly as Garry entered the shop, blessedly cool and permeated by the sound of a busily working air conditioning unit.

"Welcome! How may I help you?"

"Oh, I have a h-handkerchief..." Garry the lavender-haired man trailed off as he laid eyes on the kindly, woman whose red eyes were creased with good natured laughing lines. He didn't care as she stared at him in confusion (and concealed impatience). He stood their dumbly, mouth agape and mind racing. There really was only one thing to do, painful as it was. And hard to explain.

"C-can you give this to your daughter?" The woman's shocked faced quickly turned to one of anger and disgust as Garry timidly placed Ib's lacy handkerchief upon the counter. She slammed a fist on the same counter as she laid eyes upon the stitched "Ib" in the corner.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

"I-I have to go." He rushed out of the store into the stifling heat of the city's sun and continued to jog for a few blocks, until the shop was far enough away that Ib's mother probably couldn't trace him. As if his lungs didn't complain about expanding enough, Garry spotted something that ceased his chest even more so across the street at one of his favorite little cafes.

A little girl wearing a red skirt and white shirt, waiting outside while occasionally glancing within the shop's tinted windows, as if she was attempting to see inside. From Garry's angle, he could just make out someone that could only be her father. As she awaited his return, Ib ate a delicate little macaron.

Garry went home to his sultry apartment.


	5. Hear the Bells

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Ib, the characters, or the plotline. Kouri does.

* * *

I stared in shock at the monsters surrounding me.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I was supposed to leave this twisted world, go home and think back upon it like a nightmare.

I wasn't supposed to be trapped by a horrifying portrait and some kind of living statue and a grotesque mannequin head.

I wasn't supposed to die.

The sound of bells filled my mind as the creatures neared me. Jarring tones that eradicated all thought, like the church bells of a funeral. They announced the end of a life.

Dong.

They dragged themselves closer.

Dong.

I shut my eyes and screamed.

Dong.

All I could hear were the bells.

All I could see was black.

And I ceased to exist.

Dong.


	6. Shadow Puppets

**Author's Notes** | This is the same concept of Serendipity; Forgotten portrait, Ib is older and Garry is same age. So it's not weird. Because this fandom is too odd as it is. Ib, odd...It's Id. Or Obb. So is this pairing Gib? Or Irry? Whatever the name, they're moving in together. Perhaps a year after escaping the Gallery the second time? How sweet~

**Disclaimer**: Kouri owns it all, baby

* * *

"I can't believe you've been living in an apartment that's painted black," a short brunette huffed as she stretched the entirety of her body to reach a spot over her head. "It's so dark and depressing."

"Previous tenant had it like that. Always been too busy to bother." The man at work beside her halted for a moment, pausing to admire his new roommate. Her pin straight hair had been tied into a hasty knot at the top of her head and there was white paint smeared on her cheek. The rest of her face was slightly red from the exertion of reaching so high, on the tips of her toes. The stool under them wobbled slightly. "Let me do that, love."

"Just because you're tall doesn't mean you get to do everything," Ib smirked at her sweetheart before returning to her task; covering all traces of dark paint with the white on her brush. "Oooh, you'll make me loose my balance," the girl complained through a bright smile as Garry leaned over and kissed her.

"Couldn't help myself."

The apartment was a sparkling, fresh ivory by the time the sun had set. The pair lay together on the floor, exhausted and enjoying the sight that reminded them of the Gallery. The horrific memories were now bittersweet; despite the terror of everything, they had come out alive. And it had drawn them together. And so, their shared home was white.

It was slightly gray in the light of the single lamp left on. Everything in the apartment had been hassled downstairs to the storage room, save the lighting fixture and stool for Ib.

"Job well done, partner," the girl sighed contentedly as she slapped Garry's shoulder, who was also staring at the ceiling. In response, the man drew her closer, sliding her over the wood floors to hug her and kiss the top of her head.

"So we're officially together."

"Yes," Ib giggled, beaming up at her boyfriend. "I suppose my parents will want to meet you soon."

"Crossing that bridge when we get to it," he chuckled.

"Should we get the furniture back up?"

"Nah."

Ib laughed in slight disbelief, lightly smacking his cheek. "Then where are we sleeping?"

* * *

"Why, hello, kind ma'am, but may I have this dance?" Ib's usually high voice was dropped several octaves, making it sound dopey and slow.

"Oh, but of course," Garry responded in a squeaky tone.

The couple sat in the middle of the floor upon a thick blanket found in a closet, a lamp behind them and a clean white wall in front of them. Their hands formed little silhouette people on the flat surface, bowing excessively to each other and twirling in an awkward waltz. Ib's tiny hands formed a face instead of a body, topped with a little top hat. Garry responded with another face, his spare fingers put into spiky, fake looking hair. Their noses touched, unable to get any closer.

Two new faces formed, much more realistic than the puppets, of which lost all shape as they conjoined into a blob between the two shadows.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

This time, their lips did touch.


	7. Cry

**Disclaimer**: Kouri owns nothing I own all. Oh. Wait. Mixed up. It was nice to dream for a sec. I own nothing Kouri owns all.

* * *

"What's with that little girl?"

"Do you think she needs help?"

"Did she lose her parents?"

"Maybe we should help her."

But little Ib didn't want to be comforted.

She didn't want her parents.

She wanted her dear friend back.

But he was lost, stuck in a horrendous painting, alone and asleep.

Asleep, yes, that's what he is, she thought feverishly. Not dead. Asleep.

Her small hands wiped continuously at her eyes, sweeping away tear after tear after tear. No matter what she did, she couldn't seem to stop crying. She hadn't cried at all at her terrifying stay in the Fabricated World. Only now, they just wouldn't stop. She thought distantly that it must all be catching up with her. It was all over, everything, Garry, the Gallery, the fear. All of it ended.

And she almost hadn't remembered. She landed in front of the Fabricated World, not remembering what she had last been doing. When her hand wandered to her lace handkerchief to ensure it was still there, it met wet fabric. She drew it out curiously to see a little spattering of blood dotting it.

_I wouldn't want to tarnish it. Too late, unfortunately. Here, I don't want to get it any more stained._

The words had echoed in her head.

Her memories returned.

Her eyes had burned.

And now she could cry.

She wept as she wandered the gallery, down to the Embodiment of Spirit. The rose's beautiful outline drew her like a pale moth to a light, but he wasn't there. She then wandered back to the Fabricated World. He wasn't there, either. The girl trudged through the gallery, until she came to it.

Standing in front of the Forgotten Portrait, she cried.

"Ib! There you are! Sheesh, I was looking for you," the feminine voice sounded behind her, easing the worries of the bystanders. They returned to ogling at Guertena's work.


	8. Garry's Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing Kouri be owning all. You know the drill.

* * *

"Waugh..what a pain..." Garry got to his feet, swaying unsteadily. "Where am I?" The last thing he remembered was the gallery's white walls. Then somehow e had landed in this overly silent hallway, painted blue with black floors. He searched the walls, discovering a vase with a blue rose in it. He curiously inspected it before liberating it from the porcelain.

"Ow!" He cursed as a thorn pricked his thumb. A petal simultaneously shucked itself off the main bud, drifting gently to the floor. "Odd."

Garry's further searching of the room revealed that there was nothing but the vase, the rose, and a rather plain door at the far corner and another at the other end. There was also an oddly painted picture, but it was so creepy that he didn't dwell on it. He exited the room through one door.

There was a step to his right, where another vase sat, wedged between too nameplates. To what, he had no idea. He resolved to check them later as he continued on into a room with a single window. There was a tent and that was about it.

Through the door, he strolled on, still in a slight daze, to find a little alcove with a portrait very similar to one he'd seen in the gallery. Only, it was blue. "Curious." He didn't have the chance to comment any further as the painting sprang to life, uttering terrifying growling noises.

Garry screeched, taking off. But the Lady in Blue was too fast and had too much of a head start. She tackled her target, snatching the bloom from his clutched fists with a hand tipped with claws. It seemed to only be interested in the flower, so Garry took that as his chance to escape.

However, as he ran back to his original room, his steps began to weaken and his breath grew labored.

Before the man could even reach the door he hadn't explored, he collapsed.

"What's...happening...?"

Everything went black.


	9. Lucy and Brian

**Disclaimer**: Surprise! I own nothing! Shocking, I know.

* * *

Lucy kept running, sprinting, racing until her heart fell like it would burst out of her chest and her vision swirled about like some mad child's toy. She couldn't focus upon anything but her own breathless pants and the roar-growling of the...the _thing_ behind her.

She didn't know how it'd happened. One second she'd been in a gallery exhibiting the work of an artist she'd never heard of, and suddenly she had landed in this hellish place with an orange rose grasped in her trembling hands.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed, not even risking a glance back towards the headless statue that was doggedly following her with only one apparent intent. Its steps weren't quite running, but really a brisk walk that came closer, closer, closer, so close. Lucy's stamina was failing.

A door.

She came to a door, threw it open, pushed herself that extra centimeter through it, and slammed it in the monster's face. It was apparently banging its fists upon the wood, before suddenly abandoning the position. Its even steps echoed through the hallway beyond the exit's barrier and soon disappeared, as if forgetting the girl wheezing on the other side.

She turned to inspect her new challenge when another scream was startled out of her.

There was a small child directly in front of her, staring up.

Suddenly, he burst into tears.

"Oh, no, it's okay, sweetie. You're here from the gallery, too, aren't you?" She knelt next to the weeping boy, hugging him gently.

"I want my parents!" he wailed.

"We're going to get you out, okay?" Lucy said the lie blatantly, but it seemed to calm the kid enough to stop his crying. "There we go. What's your name?"

"Brian..." A sniffle.

"Well, Brian, I'm Lucy, and I'm going to get you out of here. Oh, you have a rose, too?"

"Yeah." The little purple bud was brought to her face so that she could inspect it.

"How lovely. Shall we go, then?" The little boy nodded.

Lucy took Brian's hand, and they walked together through the next door and to the next level.


	10. Nightmares

**Author's Notes** | This is after the Memory's Crannies ending.

**Disclaimer**: There be no way I could ever own Kouri's work. So yeah. I don't.

* * *

_They were chasing her._

_All of them together, a headless statue, a legless lady, a body-less mannequin. They were after the girl. She tried to run, but there was nothing but an endless hall and a lack of stamina. Her little black shoes hit the tile painfully with each frantic step forward, nearly drowned out by the sound of the monsters chasing her._

_They roared and growled and something shattered._

_"Ib!"_

* * *

"Ib!"

"What?"

"Baby, you were having a nightmare." Ib blinked owlishly, looking up at her dear mother, who was occupied sweeping damp locks from her daughter's pale face. "You were screaming. What was it? Want to talk?"

Ib shook her head. "I'm quite fine." Ib had had the same nightmare for a while now. The first time had been, of course, the most terrifying. She thought it was about the time she had been allowed her first full cup of coffee, or their fun excursion to the city to check out the new mall, the gallery, or perhaps the day she met one of her new friends, Alice. She was new at school.

Whatever it was that had started them, they horrified Ib. She would have them every night, just endless running from odd, dismembered monsters. Fear would remain swirling in her stomach until the sun rose and the dark was chased away, under her bed and into her closet and within the deepest corners of her conscious.

"Just go back to sleep, sweetie. You have school tomorrow and we wouldn't want you tired." Ib's mother kissed her forehead and turned to leave, clicking off the light and leaving the girl submerged in black.

The growls started before Ib even closed her eyes.


	11. It's Nothing

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Ib nor Kouri. If I owned Kouri I would force them to make a sequel.

* * *

"Hey, Ib?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember when we went to that art gallery?"

"Faintly. How long ago was that? Ten years?"

"And...do you remember anything beyond that?"

There was a peaceful silence as the brunette thought. "Yes."

"...Do you remember me past that?"

This time the silence lasted longer. It wasn't as comfortable. Finally, there came a hesitant, "No."

More silence. An absence of the sisters' normal bright chatter. Both their eyes were glued to the night sky, their backs pressed against the still-warm hood of the car they lay upon. In the quiet, there was a sniffle. "...Ib..."

"Yes, Mary?"

"It's nothing."


	12. Father?

**Author's Notes |** To my horror, I have missed a few days to this challenge. I got caught up finishing an original novel and just didn't have the time nor inspiration. So my apologies, but hopefully now I'm on track. Thanks so much to underscored umlau for help on Guertena's name!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ib. Kouri does. If you people don't know that by now I think I'd be literally mind blown. Yes, literally.

* * *

Weiss Guertena stood at his easel, dotting paint on a beautiful night sky framed by pink blossoms. His palette was covered in a melange of reds, whites, blues, browns, and every color between. The brush in his long artists' fingers was in the same condition, along with the actual digits.

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

It was so inspirational, in fact, that he dropped his utensils, retrieved a clean canvas, and set his most current piece aside so that the white fabric could stand on the only easel in the loft he resided in.

And he began painting.

Feverishly, with perfect, trained strokes that depicted hair, blue eyes, a tame smile. Flowing green fabric, little brown boots, everything.

He painted his soul into it, so wishing that his beloved daughter would come to life.

He had never been married.

Could never experience the joys of parenthood.

But as he added dimension and shadow to the canvas, he could fool himself into thinking the little girl was real, that she would spring up and call him father.

But it was just a dream.

As his hand slowed, limbs heavy with subtle sadness, he let his wrist rest on the ledge of the easel, supporting it as he deftly and deliberately drew a yellow rose.

On the back, he lovingly wrote the name of his paint child.

His hand clutched as the y was finished with a flourish.

Guertena's eyes grew wide.

The paintbrush rolled out of a paling hand, jerked free from the impact of hitting the ground in the fist.

The outside world gently streaming in through the open loft window was unaware of one less life.

The recently seizing heart in the man's chest stilled, refusing to pump red fluids through lively veins any longer.

The loft was quiet.

Deathly quiet.

There was a flutter of paper.

"Father?"


	13. The Lonely Laptop

**Author's Notes**| Continuation on Shadow Puppets which is in turn continuation on Serendipity, so yeah. New rating. Because just in case. It's kinda(cough, really) suggestive. But yolo!

**Disclaimer**: Whoops the cat's out of the bag; I don't own Ib. I know. It's earth shattering. Kouri owns it.

* * *

Garry watched every movement the girl made, to the small test she brought to her lips, to the little thumb she brushed across her forehead to wipe away a bead of sweat, to the quick tap she made on the rim of the pot.

Yes. Observing Ib cook was way better than writing reports for his workplace. Hell, anything was better than doing that. But not much was better than watching her make all kinds of soups and roasts and side dishes and plates full of food that made his mouth water. In fact, it was watering right now.

"Shouldn't you be finishing that work before dinner?"

Her laughingly stern tone made Garry jolt from his musings. He sighed laboriously and returned his eyes to the laptop perched on his knee. His spidery fingers quickly tapped out a few words, but soon his gaze inevitably darted to his girlfriend's form. The keys clicked absently a few times more before silencing.

"Garry," the growl sounded. "If you have to type into the night I will not be happy." He could still hear the little smile in her voice, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. The little game did amuse her. Just not in bed when she had to hear the restless clatter while she tried to sleep.

"How much more time do I have?"

There was a pause as the girl peered at the microwave clock, biting her lip and scrunching her face in thought. "Twenty minutes?"

"Plenty of time!"

* * *

"This is amazing," Garry sighed in content through yet another mouthful of chicken and broccoli and cheese.

"Mhmm," Ib said, enjoying her own meal just as much. "So how are those reports? Finished with time to spare, I'm sure," the girl hummed, twirling her fork at the side of her dish ponderously.

"About that."

"Another long night," Ib predicted before finishing the heap on her plate and washing it before drying and putting the porcelain away.

"Perhaps not in the way you're dreading," the man sung in her ear, suddenly behind her at the kitchen counter. His hands made their way slowly around to rest on her hips as he trailed kisses down to her collarbone, having to lean over substantially but not minding in the least. He swung her side to side to a song he had in his head, humming along.

"Oh?"

"Oh, indeed."

"You have work," Ib reminded him, not utterly convinced with the idea herself. Garry even less so. As he pouted, his grip on the brunette loosening, she turned and kissed him on the corner of the mouth, the other side. The little trick she had to make him smile worked every time. This was no exception.

"Work can be done early in the mornings," he said through a blinding beam, picking his lover up and into the bedroom. The laptop remained in the living room.

"So can other things."

"But this can't wait~"


	14. The Insanity and Dolls

**Author's Notes | **Two in one day?! Gasp! Yeah I just felt bad for not having 30 at the end of this month. It is, after all, a 30 day challenge. So I'm going to occasionally do two a day until I'm back on track. There's no cheating on challenges!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Ib, plot, characters, awesomeness, or anything of that sort. I do, however, own nothing. And that's good.

* * *

Mary sat in her room, scribbling in her sketchbook. The little droplets remaining on her lashes fell occasionally on the waxy paper, forming beads atop the crayon's trails. It was so lonely. The walls were so black, the monsters were so scary. She'd tried to comfort herself by taking one of them, a mannequin head, and coloring upon it. If anything, it was more terrifying.

She hated this place.

She wanted out.

Trips up to the rest of the mad world were few and far in between. It was just too much work. Sometimes she would get visitors, but they would always escape her. She would beg them not to leave, cry, yell. Mary would play the pity card. "Please, let me take your place," she'd beg. To no avail. She'd play the grudging savior. "You won't survive here without my help. Of course, I require a favor in return." She even lied. "We can leave together." Nothing worked.

Mary was still stuck in this world.

In anger, she threw a crayon against the black wall. It rebounded softly and hit a little blue doll standing at her door.

She was terrified of those blue dolls.

She acted sweet to them so they wouldn't hate her.

But she was so, so scared of them. One time she'd woken to one sitting in front of her, smiling. They were scary. They were blue. They were killers. She'd seen it happen. Poor gallery visitors, ones that she could have made friends. Maybe not close enough to switch places with her, but at least someone to stave her cruel, unreal reality off for at least a little bit. Someone. A real person. Not these friends her creator had left her with.

He was the cruel one.

Leaving a poor innocent Mary in this world of darkness and monsters and the overbearing smell of crayons and the fear of her own deteriorating sanity.

Insanity.

That's what she feared the most.

The insanity that she knew would eventually rip its way from her heart and very being and come into the dark reality. She didn't want to become mad. She didn't want to be crazy. She just wanted out.

Just...wanted out.

"Mary!"

"Yes?" She put on a fake smile for the doll. It wrote on the walls as usual. "There's a new one." "Oh, thank you! Let's go!"

As she ran from her room, from the coldness of it all, the doll followed her. She tried not to flinch as it flew beside her, grinning with it's ugly teeth. She passed the writing with a sick feeling. "This one has a blue rose. You love blue, don't you?" "Of course, silly, it's the color of you!" She ran past the next set of words, her eyes blurring with tears.

This was what was in store.

Cruelty.

Insanity.

Never getting out.

The monsters.

The dolls.

Oh, god, the dolls.

The next blue writing splayed across the wall ahead.

"Can I kill this one?"


	15. Come, My Dear Reader

**Author's Notes** | What's up? I'm taking y'all to the Gallery today. Have fun~

**Disclaimer: **Kouri owns Ib, I own squat, la de blah la la.

* * *

"What's that thing," you ask your friend as the two of you stroll into the great Guertena's gallery only to see a grumpy receptionist backed by the large angler fish that the artist was famous for.

She squints at something as you walked to the front desk. "I think his name is Mike. Don't be mean, he looks like he's having a bad day," she whispers through a grin.

You roll your eyes and clarify, saying, "I meant the fish." You pick up a pamphlet as your partner in art appreciating crime chats a smile on the rather sour-looking man's face. "Ready?"

"Yeah!" The first room you both entered is, of course, the main exhibit.

"_The Abyss of the Deep_," you say appreciatively. It's a magnificent centerpiece, making the surrounding works pale in comparison. After exchanging comments on the colors and lines and whatnot, the pair of you wander throughout the gallery.

"Hey, this one is _Fabricated World_," your friend says, blowing her bangs out of her face to better observe it. "I don't remember reading about this one. Huge enough to make a big deal out of."

You search the pamphlet, brows furrowing, as the little list of all of Guertena's works featured did not include the painting. "That's odd." The lights flicker once and die. You call your friend's name, noticing her comforting form is no longer beside you. In the dark, all you can see is the glaring and clashing colors of _Fabricated World_ surrounded by the white walls of the gallery. "Anyone?" You broaden your range of people, but still no answer comes.

You decide to trot downstairs and talk to the receptionist to see if he knew anything about the power's being out.

But no one is at the desk.

"Hello?" You ask, feeling like the target in every cheesy horror movie out there. (**Author's Notes | **Totally just reused a line from one of my other works. Don't mind me.) "Anyone here?" Still no reply. You call your friend's name again, just for the hell of it.

Silence.

You resolve to return to the painting you were at when this all started, and ascend the crisp ivory stares to glare at it. That's when you noticed the azure paint spilling from the golden frame. Upon closer inspection, it actually spelled something out. Before you could read the lettering, there is a splashing sound that came from the first floor. You make your way down, wishing you had done some cardio before tackling all those stairs. Multiple times.

There are footsteps that led past the red velvet ropes of the grand mural on the floor. It sent chills down your spine. Nevertheless, your curiosity piqued, you lean forward.

And fall in.

* * *

You grudgingly wake, cursing the blue walls of the room you are now in as if it were their fault you have a sore back and even sorer bum. Vaguely, you ponder if this is a heaven (or hell) that you'd been sent to after being devoured by the _Abyss of the Deep_. You pinch yourself. Still awake. Presently you get to your feet, brush yourself off, and stalk down the halls and to a vase on a table, as it is the only thing of interest in the corridor.

A white rose sits in the porcelain, just begging to be plucked. And so you do. You ignore the title plates on hung on the walls with no paintings to actually tell the name of and stroll through a door you had just noticed. There is a warmly smiling woman hung opposite your entrance, which soon becomes your exit as you bend to pick up a single key on the floor, your gaze returning to an evilly grinning portrait.

"Freaky," you mutter.

And with that, you unknowingly walk the other way into the awaiting horrors.


	16. The Sun

**Author's Notes** | Yet another two-in-a-day. Almost caught up, guys, almost.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kouri, Ib does. Wait, what?

* * *

It was the most painful thing she had ever experienced. It burned its way all over her body, making movement impossible. Touching was also out of the question. Even the sun's gentle rays sent little nerves on end with agony. One such harmless beam of light was tracing down her ankle now. She moaned. She knew she was going to die.

"Good lord, Ib, it's just sunburn." The girl's mother chided from her spot on the couch while her daughter laid on the floor, groaning dramatically. "You shouldn't have stayed out at the beach with your friend."

But oh, how it was worth it. She and Garry were fast friends after escaping the gallery together. Her parents had originally been wary of the older man near their precious child, but it was obvious he was even more innocent and childlike than Ib. Their only complaints now were that he was quite the "scaredy cat", as Ib refereed to him, along with the fact they didn't get to spend as much time with her, as she was always out with the girlishly polite, lavender-haired man.

He was nearly like the older brother she'd never had.

Presently, Ib whined once again.

"Honestly, you're impossible."


	17. Yellow and Red

**Disclaimer**: Ib don't own me and I doesn't own Ib. (Grammar kills me. But I do it. Because I can.)

* * *

"Ib! Ib! IbIbIbIb!"

The girl ignored her sister, opting instead to continue gazing at the textbook splayed on a crimson coverlet with half-lidded, bored eyes. Her cheek was in her hand, her elbow sinking into the plush fabric beneath her. She was half hidden in shadow from the bed above; only her red irises shone in the darkness.

"Ib! Mom just came back from the gallery and she bought us dolls!" A blond blur in an emerald dress landed beside Ib, cradling two items as her back hit the mattress and she was bounced to a sitting position. The green skirts of her clothing clashed brilliantly with the red below, her bright blue eyes framed by the green-clad bunk above as Ib glanced up to Mary.

"Aren't we too old for dolls?" Mary didn't explain, only deposited the two figures onto the hefty algebra tome her sister was so focused on. They were more statuette than doll, with perfectly black feminine bodies that were missing heads. One was dressed in yellow, the other in red.

Ib inspected them with mild disinterest; her usual way to go about things. "When will she stop visiting that stupid gallery?" Despite her solemn face, the girl picked the red toy up and turned it in her hands.

"She doesn't visit that often. And they just opened a new gift store, it was practically calling her name," Mary responded, bouncing lightly on the bottom bunk. "

"Weren't these from those statues I used to be terrified of as a kid?" Ib suddenly asked, glaring now with mild hatred at the thing in her hands.

Mary uttered a childish laugh and agreed. "She said she bought them because of it!"

"Loving mother that she is," Ib muttered.

"Ah, our first trip to the gallery was so amazing," Mary breathed, holding onto her sister's arm and staring out the window dreamily. "What a happy time it was..."

The red sibling groaned and buried her face in the pillow she was resting on, careful to avoid the book still containing the two figurines after Ib dropped hers back onto the pages. "I was so terrified of everything there. I thought I was such a cool kid back then."

"You were," Mary assured her through a grin. "Just not with creepy statues and paintings." Ib simply groaned. "Anyway, I call the red one!"

The sibling dressed in a white tanktop and fluffy crimson pajama pants raised an eyebrow at the other perched on her bed. "You do realize Mom undoubtedly bought the red for me and the yellow for you."

Mary whined, "But I like red better than yellow."


	18. Blue and Yellow

**Author's Notes | **Hey, Ib is fantastical and all but send me some requests for July's 30 Day Challenge! Also yet another two in a day because I made yet another blunder and skipped yesterday.

Also! This is after the ending in which Ib gets out alive with neither Gary nor Mary.

**Disclaimer: **There is no one who owns Ib better than Kouri. That and Kouri is the only one who owns Ib.

* * *

"What are you doing, Mary?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"Don't worry about it."

"I think I'm worrying about it."

"Well, don't."

Garry sighed, trying to ignore the little blonde that was occupied braiding the hair at the nape of his neck. She moved onto another stand and began humming her favorite creepy tune. As if drawn by the melody, blue dolls started to encroach into the darkened hallway. Every time the man glanced away, they seemed to be nearer.

This was so horribly...usual.

Garry had lost count of how long he'd stayed in the Fabricated World. It felt likes decades.

No matter how long, neither Mary nor himself seemed to age. It was just the same.

Garry found himself used to the terrors of the gallery. That might have scared him more. Now he barely flinched as a red gaze turned upwards from his lap.

"You're certainly making yourselves comfortable," grumbled the man as blue dolls childishly settled themselves on his lap, shoulders, head.

"They like you," giggled Mary as she finished the umpteenth chunk of hair before running her fingers through the braids, undoing them. She then started again, chuckling to herself and humming.

"I'm so glad you're here to keep me company, Garry."

* * *

Mary needs a friend, too, don't you think?


	19. Red and Blue

**Disclaimer**: What has happened? I-I don't own Ib? Oh, good lord...I'll never survive.

* * *

"What are you doing, Ib?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"Don't worry about it."

"I think I'm worrying about it."

"Well, don't."

Ib chuckled to herself as she continued drawing little roses down her half asleep friend's face. The blue sharpie in her little fingers continued until he nervously fell back into a slumber. Ib giggled to herself. The beach waves lulled her friend back asleep on multiple occasions as she continued doodling on his face. Her cell chimed delicately distracting her.

_Ib, I'm coming to pick you up. Hope you had fun today!_

Ib rolled up her cute bunny beach towel, knocking over the little sand castle she had made earlier that day. She spared a single glance to the sleeping form of her friend before sauntering off to the tiny red car waiting in the lush parking lot that bordered the rocky little beach Ib's community was so proud of.

Of course, not before leaving a little compact open on his chest for when he decided to awake.

As her mother and Ib chatted happily, driving away with the open windows, Ib laughed as Garry's indignant scream followed them.


	20. Something is Fishy Here

**Author's Notes | **Running out of ideas, guys. Not responsible for headaches and eye bleedings from the uncultured crap you are about to read. And yes. I am very confident in my work as a writer.

**Disclaimer: **I dun own Ib, Kouri dus.

* * *

Crunch.

"Will you-"

Crunch.

"Would you-"

Crunch.

"For the love of-"

_Crunch._

"Honestly, wi-"

**Crunch**.

"Abyss, would you kindly _stop it_?"

The huge fish stared at the Lady in Yellow with bulgy, discolored eyes. It chewed once more before swallowing the gallery-goer it had managed to snag with no one noticing.

"Thank you," the painting growled before resuming her meticulous stripping the petals off an orange rose. Somewhere down the twisting halls of the Fabricated World, there came screams of frustration as, surely, someone was losing their ability to walk, to stay conscious.

The angler swam around in his murky exhibit before ascending towards the white lights of the gallery to pose for pictures. The Abyss of the Deep was one of the two connections to the Fabricated World; the other naturally being the painting itself. It could move freely from both, diving and dipping between reality and horror as it pleased, snacking on innocent bystanders.

Sometimes the victims their mistress selected took the hard way, through Abyss's small ocean in lieu of jumping through Fabricated World.

Abyss learned, also through the hard way, that eating the floating and dazed morsels that belonged to _her _and _her_ alone was a crime punishable by loosing a fin.

And that's why it now swam crooked.

"Mom, the painting is moving!"

"Now now, honey, let's not get carried away."

Ah, the next plaything for _her_, the one with the yellow rose and fierce eyes that tormented them all but her servants, the blue dolls.

Abyss listened to the whining cries for a while, wondering if the little boy would choose his way or the Fabricated World way.

_Splash_.

At least Abyss could scare the victims.

He made his way over.


	21. Return

**Author's Notes** | Good lord these are getting harder to write. Well, come up with. So have this lovely piece of pointless dialogue. I like Ib and Mary's together forever relationship, so I'll expand more on it, I suppose.

**Disclaimer: **I dun own Ib.

* * *

"Hey Ib."

"Yes, Mary?"

"What do you think of going away for the weekend?"

"Sure, where to?"

"Remember that Guertena gallery we visited as kids?"

"Barely."

"It was really fun, and I think we should go for old times' sake."

"Something about that place has never felt right. I had nightmares as a kid, that's what I remember most about that place. Thinking about it now, I can't remember the actual gallery. Just a creepy world I made up to scare myself, I suppose."

"Hehehe, well do you want to go or not?"

"Not specifically..."

"Oh, Ib, please!"

"What happened to asking me if I wanted to go?"

"Just please!"

"Fine."

"Yay! I already booked our hotel!"

"Good lord..."

"I can't wait!"

"I'm sleeping now! Good night!"

"Don't be all grumpy now."

"You're always manipulating me..."

"You're always easy to manipulate! Hehe! Anyway, see you in the morning. We'll leave after lunch, mmk?"

"Fine...'Night."

"Night, Ib..."

"Sigh."

"...Yes, I hope you sleep well, Ib...Once we get to the gallery tomorrow...I'll take you back home...I have to admit, the real world is boring now...You'll meet all my old friends, the blue dolls, the Ladies...We'll have lots of fun...And just as I got used to your world...

"You'll get used to mine."


	22. Roses

**Author's Notes** | Thank you to the guest who reviewed! I'll be sure to use those other ideas in the future, but for now this one called to me most.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Ib or any of the characters and plotline. I do, however, own a cat. Yeah. Be jealous.

* * *

Deep, deep in the Fabricated World, through many red twists and yellow turns, down impossible blue flights of stairs suspended in space, past orange portrait after purple painting after green picture...There lies a pitch black room, only accessible by the cool air and haunting music that resonates through the mysterious walls.

Yes, past this labyrinth is a sacred chamber where not even the mistress can infiltrate.

Backed by the darkest walls, there rests thousands of roses, every shape and size. Each has its own individual vase, all a powdery blue. In this room, there is no spec of dust, nor cobweb, nor ill placed prints.

Only roses.

When a victim enters the world...a bloom fades from sight. Its vase is left desolate and empty as the occupant is bound to its owner for its life...and theirs.

Here, and now, there are only a select few porcelain pitchers that are missing their purpose.

No one may explain the ways of this mysterious rose room, not that anyone could. It is simply irrational. Then again, the entirety of the Fabricated World is.

Perhaps, one day, the entity that created this realm will return to tell the untold, bring forth reason from darkness.

But for now...a violet rose flickers once...and blinks out of existence.

A scream can barely be heard.

Not that there's anyone to hear it.


	23. Uh and Ah

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Ib! Jeez, guys, stop badgering me about it! (just kidding I love you all)

* * *

She had lost everything.

Her child, now in a cold bundle clutched to her chest.

Her life, now nothing but a memory in the furthest reaches of the few she knew.

Her soul, now meaningless and desolate trapped in some godforsaken place.

Her shape, now oozing sickly in thick ripples of folds about her melting form.

Her color, now hardened into a blue that will never budge again.

Yes. She had lost everything.

But she still cried about her fate.

* * *

She had lost nothing.

Her child, once given to her by the sickening deeds of a man.

Her life, once a miserable existence that ached and screamed to deaf, uncaring ears.

Her soul, once a black hole that could never be filled.

Her shape, once a weak, skinny blob that could barely support itself.

Her color, once pale before it bled crimson for eternity.

No. She had lost nothing.

But she still fought against her fate.

* * *

The sisters stood, trapped in everlasting agony.

Their pose, mirrored in every way.

Their screams, unheard by everyone.

Their fates,

Sealed forever in the darkness...

That was the Fabricated World.

* * *

**Author's Notes |** I've always loved Uh and Ah, I'm surprised there isn't more about them.


	24. Horror

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Ib. On the bright side, Ib doesn't own me either.

* * *

Her little black shoes tapped rhythmically on the floors.

Her breaths came in short pants.

Her fingers clutched her rose, trembling slightly.

Ib made her own music of panic and fear as she forged onwards, her ruby eyes flicking left and right like a spooked rabbit. The gentle sounds of the gallery were deceptively calm, and lulled the nine-year-old into a sleepless state. Her lids were so heavy, but she knew if she slept one of the monsters could come find her and eat her.

She stared at the ant that murmured to itself, but passed it. She felt a slight tang of guilt for ruining its painting, but her overall fear was too overpowering to really care about it. The emotion went unnoticed as she passed the hands yearning to entangle themselves in her clothes, scratch her skin, steal away the petals of her crimson rose.

The door's mechanism clunked thickly as she twisted her new key into it.

The emerald metal crumbled in her small digits like a pile of oddly colored ash, making her sneeze slightly before regaining her wits and pulling open the barrier. As she stepped through, a cold draft hit her face.

She walked into a new room, brown and shaped like a...cat? Her serious gaze blinked at the strangeness of it all. Nevertheless, she played a quick, childish choosing game and went the way it told her; right.

It seemed to be a warehouse of sorts, or a storage room. There were creepy man heads and boxes and the carpeting felt a bit loose. Ib strolled around the perimeter, stealing nervous glances about her figure.

The lights flickered.

Her heart seized before they returned; only then could she breath a sigh of relief. But something was wrong. There was an odd sound, like a porcelain vase moving across a table. She struggled to locate it. Deciding it would be best to escape while she could, she cut around the top of the room and when the door was in sight...something broke upon her back and she felt pain before everything went black.

...

You see...here in the Fabricated World...you cannot escape them.

It wants to kill you.

The mistress wants to kill you.

The monsters want to kill you.

Hell...eventually _you_ may want to kill you.

Such is the way of the Fabricated World.

Because horror knows no limits.


	25. Parents?

**Author's Notes |** Ib's parents notice Ib has gone missing and follow her into the Fabricated World in search of their daughter. Random names, dunno their real ones. Tried to rely on dialogue more for a change. Change is nice.

**Disclaimer: **Gasp. I dun own Ib.

* * *

"Derick, I don't like this one bit," the woman muttered, clutching her husband's arm as they walked down the green hallway.

"Diana, it'll be fine. It must be a secret passage that was made when this building was built."

"Look at it, it's _green_."

"There, there, darling."

"Ooooh...I hope Ib is alright."

"She's probably exploring just in front of us."

"Let's hurry, then," the clicks of Diana's heels hastened as she tugged Derick along, biting her lip on the way. "Oh, poor Ib...What's this ant doing here?"

"Just ignore it, sweetie."

"Beware the edges...? Oh!" A shrill scream filled the passage as a black hand shot out. As they continued, another, and another came. "Derick?!"

"Pranksters..." But he sounded less sure. His wife tugged at the half ajar door and they continued on to an oddly shaped room with three ways to go. "Which one?"

"Straight, I suppose..."

They continued on into a lovely shade of puke colored room. "Now what?"

"Straight again?"

"Worked for us so far..."

"Eeew! What are these dolls for?!"

"Let's...go another way."

"Is that...a mouth?"

"A mouth-shaped doorway, it appears."

"Derick...?"

"Yes?"

"You first."

"Ah-I-Oh...Uh...Okay."

"I think I saw Ib!"

"Come on!"


	26. Friends

**Author's Note | **This is depressingly short. But it needs to be short. So deal.

**Disclaimer: **Ib. I don't own it. I could make a list of things I don't own. But, for time's sake, I'll make a list of what I do own; Nothing. Now enjoy.

* * *

"Hey, Garry?"

"Yeah, Ib?"

"How long has it been since we got out of the gallery?"

The man beside the girl tilted his head back to think, his lavender locks falling out of his eyes for once. "Eight years?"

"It's been a long time."

"Sure has."

"I'm glad we're still friends."

"Yeah, Ib, I am, too."


End file.
